


piece of sky

by glass_icarus



Category: Stigma
Genre: Chromatic Source, Chromatic Source Creator, Gen, M/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 03:07:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glass_icarus/pseuds/glass_icarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stork and Tit, building a life afterwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	piece of sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyn/gifts).



> Written for Cyn in the Yuletide 2008 challenge. Happy holidays!

Tit can be found at the library, usually, surrounded by dust and books. No one else sets foot there anymore except for the Librarian, a desiccated stick of a man whose name has been long forgotten, and Stork himself. Stork would be more wary of the Librarian, except that he is teaching Tit to read Braille, something that makes Tit smile like the sun.

Stork himself is slightly less welcome, though after a few visits, he finds himself cataloging alongside the Librarian, shelving books and pushing carts with bemusement. The day the Librarian prods him toward a table in the corner of the room with a steaming pot of tea and orders him to sit, Stork figures he's earned himself a friend.

***

They've stopped wandering, mostly, although Stork sometimes feels the itch to walk all the way to the edge of town, then beyond, to see what he can find. Tit is here, though, content, and he finds he is unwilling to part ways for very long.

"You don't need to worry about me, you know," Tit tells him, the curve of his mouth as sweet and innocent as it always was.

"I know," Stork replies. He cups Tit's cheek, brushing his thumb along the delicate bones, long lashes curling like feathers against his skin.

"You should go." Tit leans into his palm. Stork sighs, pulls him close, a slight, precious weight in his arms.

"Someday, we should," he agrees. _But not now, not yet._

***

Stork walks up the hill, sometimes, to the small abandoned church at the outskirts of town. The walls are crumbling at the corners, and the paint on the door is chipped, but the stained glass windows are somehow miraculously intact. In one of them, a modest round panel just above the altar, there is a white dove in flight, glowing against a heartbreaking blue.

He always looks up when he leaves, just in case, but every time the skies are grey, empty.

***

One day, the Librarian passes him a box of maps.

"Find someplace else for them," he says, "the back room is full."

Stork looks down at them. "What are these?"

"Places," the Librarian says, unhelpfully. "Take whichever ones you want. It's not like anyone comes to look at them."

"What am I going to do with them?"

"Find something, of course," the Librarian sniffs. "Or aren't you planning to go somewhere?"

Stork blinks at him, surprised, then shrugs and proceeds to empty the box.

***

Most of the maps are useless, traceries of highways and towns and cities that are now lost, either deserted or destroyed by the war. The topography has changed, Stork knows, full of scars and craters left by explosions, land mines, bombshells; much like his own skin. There are barely any surviving forests left, and what trees remain look more like scrub- nothing much grows without the sun.

He files the maps away into their cubbyholes, one by one, and goes to take the box to the junk pile, when one last scrap of paper catches his eye. _National Wildlife Preserve_ , it says, the letters faded: a small peninsula, almost an island, far away from any towns or cities.

Stork shivers, thinks of blue skies. He reaches out.

***

It's difficult to find a car that works, even with the money that Stork's saved up for all these years. Still, he has his gun, and the make is rare enough that the auto shop owner is willing to make a trade. Stork passes it over, a little reluctant, a lot relieved, all that's left of his past.

He puts the Jeep in reverse and pulls out of the parking space, pleased that everything is indeed operational despite the rusted, dented exterior. The engine thrums beneath him like a heartbeat, like hope.

Tit opens the door to their apartment cautiously, hearing the engine rumble below. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"Keeping a promise," Stork replies. "Come on."

***

The map promised them forests, but if Stork hadn't seen the trees with his own eyes, there's no way he would have believed it. He _still_ can't believe it, that there are actually plants that haven't succumbed to the lack of light and clean water. He reaches out, pressing a fingernail into one of the leafless twigs, surprised when it yields sticky sap rather than breaking off in his grasp. Looking closely at the notch left behind, he realizes that the wood is dormant, green.

Walking back to the Jeep, he taps on the passenger window. Tit blinks awake, startled.

"We're here."

"Okay." Tit climbs out and reaches for his hand. Stork squeezes his fingers gently. He watches as Tit breathes in, slowly. "Stork? It smells..."

"Yeah." He lifts their hands, reaching out to touch the nearest tree trunk, running their fingers over the bark, the low-hanging branches. "We're in a forest."

Tit turns toward him, his eyes so wide and hopeful that for a moment, Stork forgets that he can't actually see. "Really?" he whispers, voice trembling.

"Really."

"But I thought all the trees were-"

"So did I," says Stork. "C'mon." He tugs Tit toward the nearest trail, glancing down at the map in his other hand.

***

They emerge on a bluff along the coast. Stork looks down at the ocean, wondering, awed. The water is grey-blue, shimmering curiously. Stork frowns.

"Stork?" Tit says hesitantly. "It's... warm."

Stork looks at him quizzically; the breeze off the sea is cool. Then he frowns: Tit's hair seems a little brighter than usual. He looks up at the sky.

There's a whitish spot appearing in the grey clouds. Stork squints at the sudden brightness, shading his eyes with one hand. The spot grows brighter, larger, and he finds himself holding his breath as a shaft of light stretches down to the water's surface. Gradually, the clouds peel apart, unveiling a patch of sky: the color of the stained glass window, the color of Tit's eyes, a clear, heartbreaking blue.

 _Tit's eyes_. Stork looks down at him, regret twisting in his chest.

"It's warm," Tit repeats, wondering. "Stork?"

"Hey," Stork says, hesitantly. He stretches out a hand. Tit's shoulder-blade is sharp, delicate, beneath his touch. His golden hair gleams even brighter underneath the sunshine, his pale skin almost glowing. Stork struggles for a moment, trying to find the right words. "We found it," he says, at last. "You were right to believe."

Tit smiles up at him, warm, incandescent. The wind ruffles his hair like the brush of feathers, of wings. He reaches up to touch Stork's mouth, arresting the apologies rising in his throat. "What does it look like, the sky?"

Stork has to clear his throat. "Blue," he says. " _Your_ blue."

"Thank you," Tit whispers, voice rough, and Stork leans down to kiss him.

  



End file.
